(and this is the line where I'm s'posed to describe my blog with some sort of witty 'draw you in' statement. I got nothin.)

Monday, May 2, 2011

Cold Coffee, Warm Toiletseat

A few months ago, back when it was cooler, I was thinking. (I did think back then, a little)I was thinking about how often I get to thinking about stuff and forget I have a cup of hot coffee.Then when I remember I have a cup of lukewarm or cold coffee. Which I don't like as much as I enjoy beautiful, beautiful hot coffee. Then later, When I went to the bathroom, the seat was cold. And I thought about the cold coffee, and that I like neither cold coffee nor cold Toilet Seat.

And then, I thought, I don't like warm toilet seat either.

Because that means someone sat on it. With their ass.

So I'm thinking about all this complex stuff, and then I realized that I'm admitting that I sit on toiletseats, & not just at home, but at the mall too. And that's just not something you tell folks. :P

But of course I never sit on toilet seats anywhere other than home, always squatting over them, and while using the toilet seat doily the entire time. Squatting over the doily. Of course.

And in airports and concert arenas, where you have to wait on a stall, I never sit on those either. But if I had, in a public place where everyone squats over the seat and uses the proper doily, I would mention that the seats at those places are warm, like they have been heated, perhaps. With someone's ass? Or maybe I did that once by accident.

So it goes Hot Coffee,

Cold toilet seat.

Unless I become one of those rich folk who get an electric toilet and the seat warms up for me. But then I may fear having water and electricity in the same sort of thing. Probably I'm too afraid of ass electrocution to own one of those.

And this reminds me of this time in middle school where some girls were sitting at lunch, and talking about stuff, and the conversation starting leaning towards the sinus canals. One girl stated, "I pick my nose." The others, me included, were aghast. The twelve years olds admission of nose picking was shocking, then leading to,

"Well, with a tissue. Not like with my finger."

That girl died a few years ago. But I never forgot that moment. Here's to you.